


Hans the Schmuck

by murg



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Deconstruction, Gen, Humor, Parody, a Grimm fairytale, an ode to freakish optimists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:51:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murg/pseuds/murg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some men are born into luck. Hans? Well, Hans might have been. It's hard to tell, since he's as stupid as he is pleasant. (Parody of Grimm Brothers' <i>Hans in Luck.</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hans the Schmuck

Hans had served his master for seven long years, so he said to him, “Sir, my time is up. Now I would greatly like to return home to my mother. Please, give me my wages.”

The master thought about it for a moment. He answered, “You have served me faithfully and honestly, I must say. As the work was, so shall the reward be.” He turned away from Hans for a moment, only to turn back around. “Um... So, what do you want?”

Hans shrugged. “I want to be with my mother, please!”

“Well, I’m a businessman, not a wizard, you dunce.” He pointed to the table. “Here is a piece of gold. Take it. It is worth very much. You’d be a moron to exchange it for anything in the world, such is its value.”

Hans was overjoyed, though also a tad trepidatious. “Why, Master, it’s as big as my head!”

“Take it or leave it.”

Hans begrudgingly wrapped the lump and set it over his shoulder. His bones cracked under the weight. Boy, oh, boy! How was he going to get this home? Would he get home? He had to see his mother! But, Hans knew the Master was being generous, so he said, “Thank you so very much! I shall now return to my mother.”

The Master waved him off. “Whatever. It’s not like it’s my only piece. I have a Swiss bank account, you know.”

Hans kept moving steadily, remembering to always place one foot in front of the other, one step at a time. (He had a tendency to forget this, so more so now was he concentrating than ever. Mother usually reminded him, but she wasn’t there.) During his struggle, he saw a rider trotting alongside a most spectacular horse. Well, okay, maybe not so spectacular, seeing as how the horse was missing patches of fur and constantly blowing snot everywhere, but Hans didn’t see that. He wasn’t the most intelligent of people, if you haven’t gathered. “Ah!” said Hans. “What a fine way to travel! You sit on a chair, you do not stumble, you save your aching feet and your beaten shoes. You cover ground so much quicker! What a _fine_ way to travel.”

The rider, who had heard him (as everything that Hans said was actually a raging shout), stopped and called out, “Hi, there, Hans!” Everyone in the whole west German countryside knew  Hans. (This was probably because of how loud he was.) He was always kind and generous, despite his poor sense of judgement, so everybody liked him immensely, including the rider. “Why do you go on foot, then?”

“I must,” Hans said, “for I have this lump to carry home. It is true gold, but it’s awful heavy and I cannot hold my head straight because of it. All the same, I understand that it is worth a lot of money and I must not trade it for anything.”

The rider knew Hans was generous and very, very stupid, so he got an idea. “I will tell you what. I am about to do you a wonderful favor, Hans. I will exchange my lovely horse--” The horse promptly started to gnaw on its own leg. “--for your silly lump of priceless gold.”

Hans considered the offer. The rider sounded true and pure in intention (at least to Hans.) He decided to take the man up on his offer. “I will accept readily!” he said (shouted.) “However, the gold is quite heavy and I do not know if you will be able to even crawl with it.” Not only was Hans generous and stupid, but he was also very strong. The rider couldn’t go 130. 

The rider approached Hans and took the gold from him, sagging under the weight. He helped Hans into the seat like a true gentleman does, only Hans wasn’t a lady, so... Well, anyways, he handed Hans the bridle and he wheezed, “If you want to go faster, just say ‘jup.’ Remember that German 'j's are pronounced sort of like English 'y's, though.”

Hans was grateful for this information, as he did have a tendency to mispronounce his own language. “Oh, thank you so very much, kind rider!”

The rider waved to him as he trotted away, the picture of bold and fearless youth. ‘What a moron,’ the rider thought to himself. ‘What a complete, frazzled dimwit!’ He then set out to buy a diamond-studded jacuzzi tub.

Hans thought this was just the coolest thing ever. Never mind that the horse was barely crawling, this was awesome. He was on a horse and free of that wretched gold lump. Horses were, like, the coolest thing since Martin Luther. Hans decided to make the horse go faster, so he said, “Jup, jup!” 

The horse started to run and its breath was ragged. And the next thing Hans knew, the world was swimming above him and the sky was beneath his feet. He had fallen in a ditch and his head pounded. 

He managed to pull himself together and rise as a farmer came down the road, driving a cow before him. He had stopped Hans's horse for him, which made him quite grateful. "Hans!" the farmer called, for everyone in the whole west German countryside knew Hans.. …And if they went indoors whenever they heard him approach, that was wholly coincidence. "What has caused you to come into such a state?"

"Ah," Hans said, "I traded a lump of priceless gold that could have fed my family for six years to have that horse you have graciously stopped for me. I asked it to move faster, but I fear I have fallen."

"Oh, Hans," the farmer scolded him. "This horse is old and sickly. You were very foolish to trade your gold for it."

Hans was finally out of the ditch and he saw the cow proper. What a glorious method of sustenance! I mean, well, yeah, the cow was…kind of old, and really smelly, but cows produced milk, right? And milk could be churned into butter or made into cheese. Or just be consumed as milk. And that meant food. And food was good. Why, with a cow, what did a priceless lump of gold or a gorgeous mare have to offer? A cow could feed him for eternity! Or… Well, at least until it died. But when it died, he could eat the cow itself. What a deal!

Hans wanted that cow. "My good sir," he said, "I would like to buy that cow from you, but I am afraid I have nothing but this old horse to offer."

The farmer thought about it briefly. About two seconds. Then he said, "Of course."

You see, the farmer knew Hans was generous and very, very stupid.

Hans agreed with a thousand pleasures! (Translating „Hans willigte mit tausend Freuden ein" as anything else is a sin.)

"I mean," the farmer said, "it's totally a loss for me, but I like to help others. Because I'm a good person like that."

"Indeed you are!" Hans said and shook his hand firmly. 

The farmer winced as he felt his bones groan in response. "Of course, Hans." Then he swung himself up onto the horse and rode quickly away. He was just, you know, in a hurry. Completely innocent. 

Hans couldn't get over what a wonderful man the farmer was and how noble of a heart he possessed. "What a great guy," Hans said, smiling. He should have taken that farmer and the rider to see his mother. She would have been very pleased to know Hans had made such honest friends during his travels.

He drove the cow in front of him absently, onwards toward where he knew his mother's home lay. He couldn't help but marvel at what a bargain he made with that farmer. He truly was lucky! 

The heat was starting to get to him, by the third hour of monotonous trekking, though. Which was fine, Hans reasoned, since he had a cow and he could drink the milk whenever he needed. "This is no issue at all," Hans said brightly and he tied the cow to a fence near a village he was about to pass. 

However, when Hans got down to milk the cow, nothing came out. Maybe it was because he was grabbing rather clumsily at the udders, but all the same. You'd think a _drop_ would eek out. 

The cow rolled her eyes and decided to mercifully give him a kick to his face, knocking him onto the ground. There, Hans's head spun in confusion. This was likely his second concussion of the day, after all.

Luckily, however, a butcher happened to be on his way down the road with a wheelbarrow. "Hans!" the butcher called, for everyone in the whole west German countryside knew Hans.. …And if they went indoors and locked their doors and windows and hid under their tables whenever they heard him approach, that was wholly coincidence. "Who would pull such a trick on you?"

After Hans was helped to his feet, he said, "What do you mean?"

"Hans, that cow's old and useless. She won't produce any milk and she's too stringy to be good for meat. Who pulled the wool over your eyes this time?"

"The kind farmer just traded my old horse with his cow."

The butcher raised his eyes to the sky. "Wow," he said.

"I know! What a great guy!" Hans gushed, grinning. 

"How do you live," the butcher muttered. It wasn't a question. He was too baffled to question anything. 

Hans's eyes glanced down to the butcher's wheelbarrow. "A pig?" 

The butcher rubbed the back of his neck, not nervous at all. "Mmhm." He took out his flask. "Here. Have a drink, Hans."

"Ei, ei," Hans groaned, patting down his hair. It was a lost cause, but the butcher didn't have the heart to tell him. "Thank you. Now," he said, "that pig of yours, that is something I envy. How good it would be, to have meat like that! It is a fine thing to be able to slaughter an animal in the comfort of your own home."

"You could kill your cow," the butcher said. "I know I said the meat would be bad, but it'd still be edible."

"I hate beef," Hans said darkly. 

"…I see." The butcher looked to the sky once more. "Well. Out of my love for you, Hans--and everyone _does_ love you so--I could consider trading with you."

You see, the butcher knew Hans was generous and very, very stupid.

"May God reward you for your kindness!" Hans cried, clapping his hands.

The butcher undid the cord tying the pig to the wheelbarrow and thrust it into Hans's hand. He was sweating bullets and shifting his eyes away, but no matter. He was so very generous! Hans was overjoyed and continued on his way. 

He could not believe it. Everything was going perfectly! His every need was being met. When he was too tired to carry his gold, he got a fine horse; when he fell off his horse, he was given a cow; when he was kicked in the face by his cow, he was given a pig. What great luck would befall him next?

A youth with a fine goose under his arm approached Hans. "Good morning," the boy said. 

"Good morning," Hans said. "Want to hear a story?"

"Sure, Hans," the youth groaned, rolling his eyes, for everyone in the whole west German countryside knew Hans.. …And if they went indoors and locked their doors and windows and hid under their tables, reciting their rosaries and asking God why He had forsaken them, whenever they heard him approach, that was wholly coincidence.

"Well, I am just _so_ lucky!" he said. "I just finished my seven years of hard labor and got my lump sum."

"Uh huh," the youth said, picking some lint off his shirt.

"But it was literally a lump, so uh, it was really hard to carry. But then a nice rider gave me his horse! But then I fell off. But then a nice farmer gave me his cow! But then the cow kicked me in the face. But then a nice butcher gave me his pig!"

The youth glanced down at the pig, arching a brow. "Yes, well, I'm off to a christening feast. This goose here is all fatted up and ready."

"That's nice," Hans said, "but my pig is not bad, either."

Looking to the side, the youth said, "Look, Hans. I know you like to think the best of people, but you say you just, uh, got it from some butcher?"

"Yep!"

"Coming from the east?"

Hans thought about that for a moment. "…Yes. Yes."

"Well," the youth said, pointing behind him. "That town over there has its mayor ranting and raving. He's just had a pig stolen out of the sty."

"That's horrible!"

"Hans." The youth gave him an unamused stare. 

Hans blinked at him, waiting. 

"Hans, I'm pretty sure that pig of yours is stolen," he said. "And if anyone catches you with it, at the very least you'll be thrown into a deep, dark ditch."

The good Hans was mortified. "Oh God," he said, his face paling. "You have to help me! Could we exchange? I am a foreigner here! You can take this back or… Oh, please, help me!"

You see, the youth knew Hans was generous and very, very stupid.

The youth heaved a heavy sigh. "Fine. But I'm taking a tremendous risk here, Hans. You're lucky I like you."

Hans took the goose and the youth chased the pig off with a stick, grumbling the whole time about 'damn adults' and their 'naïve sensitivities.' 

Hans, once again free from care, continued his journey, now with a fat goose under one arm. It squawked and clawed at him, but he paid it no mind. Oh, he was _so_ lucky! "When I really think about it," he said, "I've come out on top with this exchange as well. This goose will be _delicious!_ Delicious, fatty, non-beef meat. And the feathers! I will stuff my my pillows with them. Then I can go to bed without making that awful rocking noise my mother so abhorred. She will be so pleased!"

However, as he was going through the last village, he came across a scissors-grinder. (What is that? I don't know. I have no idea. He grinds scissors. He sharpens scissors. He does something. He's in this story.) The scissors-grinder was singing a song:

"I sharpen scissors and swiftly grind; and hang my sails against the wind." 

The scissors-grinder paused. "No, that sucks," he muttered. "I'll never get into Hollywood, at this rate."

Hans stood and stared at him for a good ten minutes with a ridiculously intense glare. The scissors-sharpener pretended to not notice, because it was horribly awkward. "Hey," Hans said.

"Hi, Hans," the scissors-grind said, for everyone in the whole west German countryside knew Hans.. …And if they went indoors and locked their doors and windows and hid under their tables, reciting their rosaries and asking God why He had forsaken them, slaughtering sacrificial animals and chanting in unison, whenever they heard him approach, that was wholly coincidence.

"So, uh. You look real happy."

"Of course," the scissors-grinder said. "A real grinder-guy is one who, every time he reaches into his pocket, finds gold."

"Sounds nice."

"It is," he said. "But tell me, where did you buy that fine goose?"

"I did not buy it, but exchanged my pig for it."

"And the pig?"

"That I got for a cow."

"And the cow?"

"I took that instead of a horse."

"And the horse?"

"For that I gave a lump of gold as big as my head."

"And the gold?"

"Well, that was my wages for seven years' service."

"Jesus," the scissors-grinder muttered. "You are one…interesting bastard, Hans."

"Lucky?" Hans said, shifting on his feet.

"I guess that's one word for it." He leaned on his grinder-thing. (I probably should have done some research on the lives of scissor-grinders before I wrote this story.) "If only you could actually _keep_ your money in your pants pockets. Then you'd rich."

"How do I do that?"

He gestured. "You have pants on now. Pockets, too, I presume?"

Hans patted at his sides, befuddled. The scissors-grinder could see the pockets. He could literally _see_ Hans's pockets and Hans couldn't seem to get his hands into them. "Well, in that case, I guess you'd have to be a grinder, like me. All you need after that is a grindstone."

"Then I make my living as a grinder?"

"What? Pfft, no." He picked up a rock. "See this here? It's a little worn, but I will exchange it for your goose. Then you shall be rich for the rest of your life. Will you do it?"

You see, the scissors-grinder knew Hans was generous and very, very stupid.

"Of course!" Hans said. "Then I shall be the luckiest person ever. I'd never have a single trouble again." He paused, furrowing his brow. "…Not that I've ever really had troubles, before. Oh, well."

Hans then exchanged his goose for the ~~rock~~   _grindstone._ "Now," said the scissors-grinder, "take this really big rock with you, as well."

"What for?"

"How the hell should I know? Hammer nails on it, I dunno."

Hans took the heavy rock (as big as his head!) and left in contentment, his eyes shimmering with ~~tears~~ joy. "I must have been born blessed," he ~~sobbed~~ cried, "for everything I want happens to me as though I were a Sunday child!"

However, his legs began to feel sluggish. He _had_ been walking since dawn, after all. He was a rather tired. Hunger also wracked his body, since he hadn't eaten, either. The totally magical stones he carried weighed him down terribly. He had to stop every minute to catch his breath. 'How nice,' he thought, 'would it be if I did not have to carry these dreadful weights!' However, it was of no question to Hans that he _had_ made a good deal. What a fine fellow that scissors-grinder had been!

He inched across the countryside until he came to a well, in a field. Water! Oh, water! Cool, refreshing water! He rushed to it. And by rushed, I mean that he crept at the same snail's pace he had before. 

Mindful, he placed the rocks on the edge of the well, since he didn't, you know, want to push them into the well. Then he sat himself down and leaned over the well. 

And, of course, he slipped and pushed the rocks into the well.

His magical stones sunk to the bottom of the well before his very eyes. The stones that would have supplied he and his mother with an endless supply of gold. The last reward(?) of his seven year toils. 

Hans jumped for joy and knelt down, praying loudly in thanks to God. "I'm so lucky!" he shouted, which God most certainly heard, because Hans shouting was more like a normal person screaming into a megaphone attached to an amp. 

"Calm down, Hans," God said, though Hans did not hear Him, since God knew how to speak at a civil volume. 

"There is no man under the sun as lucky as I!" he exclaimed. 

God grumbled about stupid Bavarians, but Hans did not hear this, either. 

Then, with a light heart and free from every burden on this green earth, save for explaining to his mother how he worked for seven years and had nothing to show for it, he ran and ran until he was with his mother at home. 

What's a momma's boy. Seriously. 


End file.
